(Источник: theirgraves из блога sweet-satisfaction)
(Источник: theirgraves из блога sweet-satisfaction)
{ fall asleep }
(Источник: todayweareyoung15 из блога sweet-satisfaction)
(Источник: cloudcuckoolander из блога animedreamland)
(Источник: dylanmarley из блога fyeahscottpilgrim)
(Источник: timburtonmoviegifs)
(Источник: chelseawoosh из блога pilgrimblam)
i have a thing that is I’d rather avoid physical contact in any way with someone I’m not that close to…
even if i crave it…
oh. i don’t understand it either
Once I had a beautiful, loving soul. Untainted child had a soul.
There is no reason why my soul now is dark, bruised. Smoke flowing through horrible holes. It is like destroyed spider’s web. There is no one to blame but me.
To see damage… Why I or anybody else would like to find a way to see the damage, never mind, try to heal it, to sew ragged edges of infected dying soul?
Is this question as much rhetorical as I tried to express it?
Chocolate, movies, candies, music, beautiful fiction stories are helpful enough to sooth this undiagnosed syndrome a little. Same lovely things bring up memories a mind of mine desperately tried to forget.
Dramas, dramas, dramas. The mind converts every little thing consumed by hypersensitive receptors. Hypersensitive? –Yes. Properly working? – Don’t think so.
My eyes. How much I hate them. Those conspired betrayers.
Even if they are the same thing I find the best in others. So many emotions, deep thoughts, incomprehensible motives can be seen in them. Or nothing.
Don’t know how one is able to do is this, show no emotion. Do they, like, put a safety or confusing armor on their brains, eyes, tongues? Do they think it is fair to hide? Don’t they understand that it is a lie they choose to show us? Do they believe that lie won’t hurt others? Lie would destroy everyone, everything, including the liar.
I am a liar. This story is about the biggest liar in my life.
And the liar doesn’t even try to open up and show their truly self in this story. All the liar is going to do is to complain. All the liar has ever done is complaining. Don’t you see a pattern here?
Pathetic, schizophrenic, selfish liar. It’s not even ironical.
Darkness. There is no devil, or any other word you name it, that can be expelled from this body, from this… Soul?
Shattered pieces of hope, love and faith. How did they find a shelter in this in-urgent-need-to-be-patched being?
Or is it another lie?
Faith is what I don’t even understand anymore.
Hope is what I can’t feel as much as fictional pain anymore.
I can’t find escape, can’t get rid of, kill this doubtful feeling called love.
If I don’t want something, why is it still presented in my life?
LIFE? Do not need to be reminded that I have no life.
Chocolate, movies, candies, music, beautiful fiction stories are all my life. Oh, and don’t forget complaining! And crying with or without reason. If the reason is half-fictional, than why care about its origins?
Tears can be wiped off. Just remember that self-pity and self-nurturing is disgustingly pathetic.
Me remember anything? Ha! No!
Repeat all things I hate – it is like my own motto. Steeped in desires of ending their existence beast.